


Vow

by redtrouble



Category: Demonheart (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-09
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:59:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtrouble/pseuds/redtrouble
Summary: Bright is more forward and Sir Brash has less self-control. Brash POV. Rated E for mature language and explicit sex. [This was a fanfiction contest entry with the prompt: What If? It is not related to my Demonheart: Through the Eyes of Brash series of stories.]





	Vow

The weakest of light streamed in through the windows, capturing the faint flutter of dust motes and bathing her fair skin and red hair with twilight. They stared at one another, silence thundering between them, a strange gravity drawing them closer together. She was propped up in the hay, halfway to rising, and he was kneeling over her.

“I watched you while you slept,” Brash murmured.

Bright did not seem surprised. She was not disgusted, not afraid, not even amused. Her expression confused him…confused him because she looked exactly how he felt: hungry.

“I know,” she replied.

He tried to swallow the tension but his throat was so tight with emotion, anticipation. What was he doing? Why was he reaching for her? He cupped her chin and tilted her face up. “The scar on your neck is barely visible. Good, I guess.”

Her lips parted ever so slightly with the careful intake of breath, her eyelashes nearly kissing her cheeks as she gazed at his mouth. And then she was moving toward him and he met her halfway, locked in this gravity.

He exhaled a sharp breath as their lips met and all the blood rushed straight to his cock. He pushed her into the hay as his kisses became an assault on her mouth. He pinned her arms over her head, tongue lashing at hers while a small voice in the back of his head warned him to stop. But he couldn’t stop. She was kissing him back, arching against him, and she wasn’t wearing her armor…

Brash clawed at her hip, drawing her against him, momentarily pressing his groin against her inner thighs. He couldn’t feel anything through all of his armor save for an urgent need to be inside her. He broke away from her mouth, breath ragged with lust, and traced a line of kisses along her jaw to her neck. She gasped excitedly.

One of her arms wriggled out of his grasp and tucked between them. Suddenly her hand brushed his erection through his pants and he went very still, even with the electric pulses firing off in his nervous system. He snatched her wrist and held her there, trying to breathe, trying to get himself under control.

And then she gave him a look that unraveled him—that innocent, doe-eyed expression that seemed to ask him if she had done something wrong— _why did you stop me, I only want to please you_ —and he immediately unlaced his breeches and let his cock spring free. When her silky hand touched him, he sighed hotly, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head as he closed them. He grunted as she wrapped her fingers around him, gently sliding up and down, inexperienced and uncertain but good, so good—good because it was her, because she wanted to do it.

This was fine. It was okay. It wasn’t sex. He wasn’t crossing a line or breaking any rules. He could let her do this and keep his conscience clean. It wasn’t sex.

Brash tangled one hand in her hair, face tucked next to hers, and groaned with each pump of her hand. He was too keyed up. Carnal thoughts had plagued him since he had met her and now he felt the pressure building way too quickly. He couldn’t take her pace, her gentleness. He reached between them and covered her hand with his, squeezing her fingers tighter around him, and then began moving their hands together in a much quicker motion.

Within moments, he felt the throbbing break and a splinter of ecstasy shot up his spine as he spilled his seed into the hay between her thighs. He lay still for a moment, drawing fast, deep breaths as his mind quickly reordered itself and he remembered what was happening. Then he lifted his head and looked into her hopeful eyes, at her blushing cheeks, her wet, inviting mouth and released her hand.

It still wasn’t sex, and there was absolutely zero law that said he couldn’t return the favor.

Brash lifted her hips and brought her closer, unbuttoning her pants before she even knew what was happening. Then he licked his fingers and shoved them between her legs, under her panties, and groaned when his fingertips slid across her very wet pussy.

“Fuck, kitten, you’re so wet,” he growled in shock. This was how much she wanted him. She was soaking wet and he was only going to finger-fuck her. It seemed like a fucking waste but he couldn’t bring himself to cross that line.

“Sir—” she began but her own gasp cut her off as he ran his thumb over her sensitive nub and two of his fingers pushed inside of her. He choked on his own breath at the sound it made, cock instantly twitching with renewed desire.

Brash folded his mouth over hers to stifle her noises, tongue battling hers with every kiss. Her hips bucked against his hand as he worked her into her own frenzy. He was so hard by the time he felt her walls start to flutter that his brain had seemed to momentarily turn off. Instinct was driving him. In fact, when he reached under her and flipped her onto her stomach, yanked her pants down to her knees, and then drew her hips back against his, he was surprised to find her in that position, his cock resting against her wet slit. When had he done it? Why? He was out of his mind with desire.

Bright was panting, peering at him over her shoulder, a question in her half-lidded eyes. What was he doing? Or what was he waiting for? He felt himself slip between her folds, just an inch, and released a shuddering breath. He was absolutely not to cross this line. He could not. Would not. He had to stop, had to get out of there before he made an irreversible mistake. He had to—

Bright rocked back against his hips and Brash thrust into her in one hard stroke, straight to the hilt. He was seeing stars and barely had the wherewithal to slap a hand over her mouth when she cried out, back arched. His other hand pushed up into her shift and fondled her breasts as he carefully rocked in and out of her, awed by how tightly she hugged him, how hot and wet she was.

Brash groaned as she cried out against his hand, felt the vibration in his bones, her warm breath on his palm. Her tongue tickled his fingers and he bit back a moan, gasping as she drew a finger into her mouth and suckled it. His hips involuntarily jerked against her in response. Something snapped.

And then he was ramming into her, pressure building until finally it exploded out of them both. He groaned into her hair and she moaned against his palm, legs shivering as his cock emptied inside of her. He pressed his forehead against her shoulder, trying to catch his breath in the aftermath, and they both collapsed onto the hay.

The cold realization that he had crossed the line crept down his spine. He leaned up and gazed at her trapped beneath him, ran his hand down her back and over her naked hip. He had fucked her. And he was glad. His guilt had tormented him long enough. Now he had an excuse to man up and do the thing he had wanted to do since they had set out from the war camp.

Brash gently kissed her temple and she stirred, peeking at him through her tangle of red hair. He brushed it away from her face and let her turn enough to kiss him. He gently held her jaw, kept her face angled toward his, and lovingly moved his lips against hers, indulging in tenderness he should’ve brought forth much earlier.

“Get up,” he said when he broke away from her mouth. “Get dressed.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it.” He climbed off of her, stuffed himself back into his pants, and laced up. She quickly pulled her pants back on and adjusted her shift. “Armor, too,” he said. “And be quiet.” He went to the door to watch the other room while she put her armor on. The soldiers were still asleep.

When she was finished, he motioned for her to follow him and they crept out of the watchtower. Dawn was breaking over a gray sky. Thunderstorms were on the horizon. Brash swung her toward the road, hurrying her down the path that led away from the swamp and into the north.

“Go,” he said, and she stood there, staring at him in wide-eyed shock. “I said go.”

“What?”

“Leave. Go on.” He felt anger rising as she stood there staring at him. “Are you fucking deaf? Get out of here while you still can.”

“What about the witch—”

“Fuck the witch. I’ll take care of her. Just go.”

“Where?”

“To the north. Anywhere. Avoid roads, avoid people—find a piece of shit hovel to hide out in and stay there.” His jaw tightened. “And be happy.”

Her lower lip was quivering, brows pulled into a frown. “But…we just…I—”

“It doesn’t matter now.”

“But I think I love—”

Brash grabbed her by the face, pulled her to him, and kissed her one final time. “If you don’t go now,” he growled against her lips, “I’ll kill you myself.” It was a lie, a big lie. He was only doing this because he couldn’t kill her. “I’ll cut out your heart and eat it myself, sweetheart. I swear I will.”

He let her go and she stumbled backward, afraid, distraught. He forced his face to make the coldest expression he could muster, felt it cracking at the sight of her tears.

“Brash—” she started in the tiniest of voices.

“Go!” he barked. She jumped in surprise, nodded, and took off at a run. His jaw was clenched so tightly that his teeth hurt. “Goodbye, kitten…” he murmured.

Brash turned and plunged back into the swamp, following a long and familiar road toward the witch’s lair. Rage and regret and bitterness burned him hotter than the muggy swamp. His guilt had been satisfied with his sacrifice, but with it came an oppressive pain in his chest. Because he had loved her. He had wanted to be with her. But there was never any hope of that no matter what choice he made.

This path, at least, saw her alive. Maybe even happy. So he would walk it gladly.

When Brash arrived at the ruin, rain was pouring down on him. He stood outside the dark, gaping maw that led into the temple, skulls on pikes flanking him, and stared. Waiting. Soon the beast arrived. Rivera stepped into the light, a bare foot first, her exposed leg, the blue robe, and then her snarling face framed with wild, black hair.

“Where is the girl?” she snarled.

“Gone.”

Her dark eyes flared angrily. “What have you done?”

Brash shrugged and flashed one of his famous smirks. “What I vowed.”

Rivera trembled with rage until she was screaming. A flash of darkness swallowed him and everything went black.

**Author's Note:**

> I read something Lamb, the creator of Demonheart, wrote regarding Brash that inspired this piece, which was that Brash had a rule to never kill a woman he had slept with. So I just decided to run with that concept for my "What If" contest entry.


End file.
